A Repulsion of Denial
by quitecontrary311
Summary: Lucius is having an affair, and Narcissa is not clueless enough not to see it. Rated M.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: This is the first fanfic I have written in awhile (I had another account and I plan to merge it with this one at some point). I am finally dusting off the cobwebs and getting back into it, and this is the first thing I've finished in a very long time! I may continue it at some point, but as of now it stands alone as a one-shot.

Typical disclaimer: I own nothing except what I've written here, but none of the characters or source material.

* * *

I've seen the way he looks at her when he thinks I am not looking, the way his eyes trail after her like a lovesick puppy whenever she is in the room. He isn't supposed to look at her like that. She's his assistant; she is supposed to be the one inappropriately besotted with him, with a foolish girl's crush on a powerful man completely out of her reach. That is the other half of the problem, though: she is.

Both are completely enamored of each other. It's obvious to anyone with eyes from the moment they see one another. Ministry events have become unbearable. They both have to attend, of course, as employees, and while I hang from my husband's arm like an afterthought she meanders about attached to the redheaded boy, smiling too brightly at everyone who clamors for her attention.

My husband always catches her eye at some point in the evening. She blushes and he smirks, and neither seem to realize how obvious the tension between them is, how it stretches across the room like a thick twine that pulls them toward each other. Her escort never seems to notice, always too busy with the company at his table or the food on his plate. It leaves her open to my husband's gaze, and she receives it willingly.

The truth acknowledges itself at the Ministry Christmas party. The banquet hall is more crowded than usual as it is the most popular event of the year. Witches and wizards dressed in formalwear take up seemingly every available space, sitting at tables decorated with miniature Christmas trees or navigating a dance floor beneath dozens of floating candles placed to create an atmosphere of romance.

She is there, of course, in a red silk dress that remains modest enough apart from how its short sleeves fall from her shoulders and its neckline dips just enough down her chest. She clashes horribly with the boy at her side, whose unkempt orange hair and ebullient grin betray her strange elegance. I sense my husband's observation of her arrival. He watches her as she moves through the room, a predator in sight of his prey. His prey seems all too willing to put herself in danger, however, given her smile whenever she sees him.

"Miss Granger," my husband greets her when we are close enough that the need to acknowledge her becomes mandatory. "How lovely to see you here."

Her smile remains polite, but there is an unmistakable flash in her eyes. "Good evening, Mr. Malfoy, Mrs. Malfoy," she replies. "It's lovely to see you as well."

The redhead grumbles out an unconvincing greeting at us. He obviously cares little for social convention and sees no issue in sharing how he dislikes us. Tiring as it is, I almost wish the young woman at his side would do the same; it was somehow far easier when she only hated us.

I notice the redhead on his own later in the evening, his companion nowhere to be found. My own escort had disappeared nearly half an hour earlier under the guise of vaguely-worded "business." I hadn't been naive enough to believe him, of course, but Miss Granger's date seemed none the wiser. He is enthralled with his conversation amongst a small group of people I don't know, his easy laugh assuring me he feels no need to go and find her.

The wife of the head of the Foreign Affairs office pulls me into a conversation just as I remove myself from my chair. She chatters at me for a few minutes about the decor, the food, the people that surround us. I extricate myself from the conversation as soon as I am able and continue on for the door, determinedly avoiding catching anyone else's eye.

The corridor is quiet enough, though a few people mill about without any urgency, obviously enjoying the quiet away from the ballroom. I see no sign of my husband, whether or alone or in the company of anybody else. Instead of turning back I press on, wandering down a darkened hallway off to the side that seems entirely deserted. It seems to lead toward places no one would care to see. I find one closed door marked "Storage", but the few others along the corridor are unhelpfully blank.

A nondescript door at the very end has been left carelessly open just enough that it seems accidental. A few muffled sounds escape, and though my stomach gives an unpleasant lurch and I face a sudden desire to turn back to the light of the ballroom I step closer, silently pressing myself to the wall and looking in.

The moonlight that filters in through the one small window illuminates their silhouettes in a mystic silver glow. My husband's hair seems to shine of its own volition, and her dress looks darker, like ink in the pale light. As my eyes adjust I see the more subtle lines of their bodies pressed together, her dress rucked up around her waist and his pants still on but undone, both increasingly disheveled as he ruts against her like a teenager. She doesn't seem to mind, given her wanton moans.

" _Lucius…_ " His name falls like velvet from her lips. She whimpers, and it echoes with her urgency.

"Yes, my darling," he growls back. "Tell me what you need."

"Please...you know what I need, you always know...I'm so close…"

In the darkness I see one of his hands slip between them, disappearing beneath the folds of her dress. She soon cries out to the corners of the small room.

"Oh...Lucius...yes!"

Mere moments later he releases his own guttural cry, "Yes...oh, my Hermione…"

She clings to him through the aftermath, and he clutches at her like he might at any moment float away and she is the only thing keeping him on the ground. Slowly they return to normal, their panting not quite so harsh but reduced to slightly labored breath. Still they hold onto one another, their foreheads pressed together, twin smiles upon their lips.

"Gods, how I love you," he murmurs, first to break the silence.

"And I love you," she replies in a sweetly hushed voice.

I step away then. It is obvious they will soon leave and I have no desire to be seen by them. I turn on my heel and escape with as much finesse as I have within me, sure to keep quiet on my return down the corridor.

Only upon my return to the ballroom does reality crash itself down around me. I had suspected everything I'd seen, of course, but there is a world of difference between harboring suspicion and seeing the truth as a concrete fact before your eyes. Now there is simply no denying it- denying _them_.

The redheaded boy is still delightfully unaware of anything but his own company. He scarcely moves when his date reenters the room, taking her place once more at his side. A few minutes later my husband appears. He rests a hand on my back and I know he feels me stiffen, but says nothing since I make no move to back away. I allow myself to be guided along for the remainder of the evening, from Ministry official to Ministry official, through inane conversations that thankfully require only minimal reply.

When we say our goodbyes, he maneuvers us so skillfully that it almost seems accidental to run into her and her red-haired companion.

"Delightful to see you as always, Miss Granger," he tells her, extending a hand toward hers. When she complies he raises it to his lips in a rather brazen display which causes her to flush suddenly pink and the boy at her side to look on in confusion.

"Mr. Weasley," my husband acknowledges him before we leave the hall.

Late at night in our bed the usual distance between us hovers larger than ever. I'd never noticed just how far away from one another we generally keep until I noticed how tightly he pulled her to him, how he clung to her with force nearly enough to draw her inside of him. He is asleep now, unaware that I've not yet closed my eyes. I cannot help but wonder what the scene might be were she here instead of myself.

I picture unbidden the thought of him wrapped around her in the silken sheets, their legs entwined, her head on his chest while he strokes her unruly hair. They fall asleep like that, breathing in rhythm, one ending where the other begins. In my mind they awaken in the purple depths of pre-dawn, his body searching hers in the dark, finding it immediately as if drawn to her by unseen force. She welcomes him openly, her legs around his waist and her arms around his back, allowing him into her without hesitation.

They move together in perfect symphony. Her soft cries echo throughout the room, met with his own moaning. They rise together and plunge as one over their peak, clinging to each other as always, practically one being. As they fall they convey in hushed tones their declarations of love, their devotion to each other, their unwillingness to part. They fall asleep once more, entwined together, as the first rays of sunlight break across the horizon.

I realize with unpleasantness that in my thought of them I had fallen asleep, and that morning indeed rises outside the windows. Even in dreams they haunt me; not even sleep has given me an escape.

It seems my husband has no such issues. He is still asleep across the bed, and makes no change when I rise out of it to step over to the small wardrobe room. His cloaks hang neatly along one wall while my own clothes line the opposite. I step between and find a particular trunk, small but enchanted to hold more than its size bears. Into it I pack a decent collection of whatever I might need and close the latches tight.

Almost immediately I set it down behind a few of my longest coats where it will not be easily seen. I will not use it yet; but it is there if I should have the need.

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Please leave a review if you'd care to! I love talking to people about writing.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: Hello again everyone! First I want to thank you lovely readers for your follows/favorites/reviews/etc- especially the guest reviews I can't reply to in a PM! You are all amazing. Secondly...yes, a new chapter is here! I'm really glad to continue this story, I've been having a lot of fun writing it. I hope you're having as much fun reading it! Feel free to drop a review if you're so inclined, I love them.

Anyway, on with the show. And as usual, I only own my own words (and whatever mistakes lay within them).

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The seasons give way to one another, as they are wont to do, winter melting into spring with a soft sigh of its usual dreariness. The Manor is perfectly dreadful, as it always is during this time of year, the house dark without any sunlight and the grounds morose from snow and rain. It was cheerful enough through the holidays, but the parties have ended and the decorations removed, leaving the enormous space notably desolate.

A positive side to the gloom is the time I've been granted alone now that the constant festivity has ended. Parties require interaction, a need to stay at my husband's side while I play host and he feigns happiness for our guests. It seems to fool them enough, but I see through it with ease.

It seems to be an unspoken rule that _she_ does not visit the Manor. Despite their professional relationship she has remained absent from any event we hold at our home, I suppose in an effort to keep secret what they've tried so desperately to hide. While I appreciate the effort for what it is (it is nice not to think of her while in my own home), I almost wish it weren't in place as it has made my husband near unbearable to live with.

Throughout the holidays he was continually on edge, apart from the Ministry's Christmas party. Though charming enough for our guests he otherwise sulked about, and the end of that means that I don't have to witness his unpleasant mood any longer.

We return to an all but separate existence with ease. I enjoy the solitude provided by days alone in and around the Manor, and my husband returns to work and immediately becomes much more cheerful. The mercurial difference almost makes me laugh.

Early March brings yet more dreary weather and the beginning of a spring social calendar. While I don't particularly enjoy the weekly afternoon tea gatherings that seem to focus entirely on idle gossip, I do like getting away from the business of the Manor, and seeing a few women I do genuinely enjoy spending time with.

One such gathering happens to fall on a particularly unpleasant afternoon. The rain had started early on in the morning, and by the time I'd arrived at the rather unremarkable witch Priscilla Flintwarthe's house where the tea would be held, the storms had begun. Rain pelted the windows in harsh droplets while thunder rolled in the distance, threatening its way closer. I am glad to be indoors and relatively comfortable, though distracted by the incessant noise (the chatter of the women around me does not help) and tired of the oppressive atmosphere outside.

Evidently my friends think the same, because Priscilla decides to end the get-together early, and everyone in attendance immediately agrees. It seems the weather has rendered us all tired of each other's company, and we depart quickly for our respective homes.

I sense something odd the moment I apparate into the foyer. There is an energy in the air that I have never felt before; I wonder briefly if it is because of the rapidly worsening storm, but I quickly dismiss that thought. In over twenty years at the Manor, I have never felt that effect from any sort of storm. This is something different.

It does not take long to figure out what it is.

A scream pierces the air, timed perfectly to a sudden crash of thunder. I remember something so eerily similar from only a few years back, a near-identical sound echoing throughout my house. I realize with immediate obvious clarity that she is at the Manor.

 _Loud little thing, isn't she_? I think to myself as I begin to ascend the staircase. She seems to have no qualms about shrieking out her pleasure. The crassness of it makes me roll my eyes, but my husband seems to have no problem with her indecency.

When I arrive on the second floor I see immediately why I'd been able to hear her so easily: the door to the master bedroom is open, no doubt because they thought that they would have the place to themselves. I cannot help but laugh internally at their foolishly casual behavior; it makes everything so easy for me.

Somehow they do not see me as I approach the bedroom, but then really I have no reason to be surprised by it. They have been only able to see one another for months.

They are predictably nude- I can see that even with their bodies half covered by the sheets. She is sprawled out on the bed, her wild hair across the pillows and her limbs askew. My husband is at her side, one arm draped loose over her belly, his fingertips gently tracing over her skin. They remain that way for several minutes, her fingers carding through his hair while he brushes soft kisses over her shoulder and bared chest.

I should move. This would be the time to interrupt them, when they are enclosed in their nauseating bubble of post-coital bliss. How satisfying it would be to destroy it.

Instead I find myself unintentionally and silently rooted to the spot as if trapped there by some unseen force. Perhaps there is a charm at work- or maybe a curse. It would not surprise me.

After some length of time they move beyond their lazily patterned motions. His hand slips down beneath the silken sheet and settles between where her legs are while his head moves upward, lips trailing along her skin until they finally reach her own.

They kiss slowly, leisurely, unhurriedly tasting one another and clearly delighting in each other's presence. His hand moves after a few moments and she breaks the kiss with a whimper.

"Lucius…"

How fitting that the first word I hear in this little scene is a whine of my husband's name.

"Yes?" He drawls. I hear the smirk in his voice.

"I need you."

"I'm right here, my dearest."

"That's not what I mean," she huffs. She sounds so young. What is she...nineteen, perhaps? She must be; the same age as my son.

He chuckles. "Well, what do you mean?"

"You know, you arrogant sod. You know what I want."

"I do," he laughs. "But you know how I love to hear you say it."

She remains obstinately silent until his lips travel down her neck, pausing at a spot that causes her to moan.

"Ohh…"

"Mhmm," he agrees. His hand moves between her legs once more. "What do you need, darling?"

"I need you inside me again, Lucius," she groans out, her head falling back. "Please...I need you to fuck me…"

It's his turn to groan as he pulls back just enough to grab hold of her legs and tug her down the bed. She squeals, gripping his back. The sheets fall from around them and I see him position himself before thrusting forward, burying himself inside her in one motion.

"Yes," she sighs like he has fulfilled a missing part of herself. "My Lucius...I love how you feel...I can never get enough…"

"Never," he agrees, his own voice low and grating. "I need to be inside of you, all the time...this is where I belong, with you...you are mine…"

"Yours," she replies immediately. They each sound as needy and desperate as each other. "I am yours entirely, Lucius, always…"

Her words seem to spark something primeval within him.

"Again," he growls, thrusting within her at a bruising pace. "Say it again. Tell me that you belong to me. _Only_ me."

"I do," the girl whines. "I belong only to you, Lucius...you know that I am only yours…"

My husband is unlike I have ever seen him, practically inhuman as he slams into said girl beneath him on the bed. "That's right. You may go back to that little boy of yours, but he will never truly have you. You were made for me, and me alone…"

I almost laugh at the way she moans aloud at his words. From what I had seen of her she had always been annoyingly self-assured and full of brash independence. It seems that underneath that, however, she is surprisingly pathetic.

I know for certain then what the strained sound that I have been hearing laced through their desperation is: jealousy. It exists just as much in her voice as it does in his.

"Please...I'm so close...I need to feel you coming inside of me, Lucius, I _must_ …"

"Yes...my Hermione…"

Lightning strikes just when they reach their mutual peak. Her back is arched unnaturally in the strange light, his pale skin is near translucent for the breadth of a single moment. A crash of thunder falls immediately after, so loud it rattles even the solidity of the Manor. She screams; I can't hear it but I see her parted lips, her throat strained in a cry. If he makes a sound- and I am sure he does- I am unaware of it. They cling to one another fiercely.

The thunder seems to shake me of my peculiar hold. I find myself free to move once more, and I immediately step into the doorway of the room where the two are still locked in their embrace. My arms fold themselves over my chest, and though an unpleasant violence threatens to assert itself from within me, I simply gaze at them with a hardened smirk.

"Well, then...what is it we have here?"


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note: You guys, I am so sorry it took THIS long to come out with anything new! I only have the usual excuses to blame—work got crazy, I'm in training for a half marathon...basically writing got neglected.

But I've missed this series, and I've had this chapter rolling around in my head for awhile, so I finally buckled down and got it all out on (digital) paper. As a forewarning, this is the last chapter of this story. There is more to come in the companion story, _A Revelation of Desire_ , but as for Narcissa's side of things, they will end here.

Here's the usual disclaimer that I don't own anything except for my own words (and any mistakes; there was a LOT of 3 am writing going on here). And with that, I hope the final chapter was worth the wait—enjoy!

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It is warm outside; a pleasant evening touched with a gentle breeze and the lingering scent of lavender that floats upon it. I take a deep breath of it as I sit at the small table on my balcony, inhaling the air until it fills every part of me, closing my eyes against the setting sun beyond the horizon. The colors of the sunset run together behind my closed eyelids until they are just one permeating flash of light the color of a satsuma. It isn't altogether unpleasant, and when I open my eyes again I can finally read with some clarity the Daily Prophet article I've stubbornly ignored all day.

 **MALFOYS WELCOME NEW ADDITION**

When I first saw the headline, I had scoffed at the fact that they had made the front page. I shouldn't have been surprised, perhaps—they had been doing so for months that sometimes felt like decades. My ex-husband was thrilled at it, of that I was certain. He did always enjoy preening before a crowd.

I laugh to myself, thinking on how he can show himself off as much as he wants now, and return to the newspaper.

 _ **Lucius and Hermione Malfoy (née Granger) are the proud new parents of a daughter, Lyra Aurelia Malfoy, born at 8:23 am on the 3rd of June.**_

 _Such an innocuous date_ , I think to myself. Of course the Prophet wouldn't mention that it marks to the day when I left my former life forever. Two years to the day, in fact. A part of me thinks that that cannot possibly be right, but I remember it all so clearly.

 _Silence follows the deafening thunder, their shock at being discovered making them both gape at me, twin horrified expressions on their faces. I cannot help but laugh._

" _You don't think I was unaware of this, do you?" I ask. "I would have thought you knew better. It isn't as if you've been subtle about it."_

" _I-" the girl starts to speak, her voice still hoarse from screaming my husband's name. She apparently decides against that and promptly shuts up._

" _How long have you known?" Lucius asks. He's slipped back to that expression of arrogant neutrality he wears so well._

" _Oh, ages now. You confirmed it with your little stunt at the Ministry Christmas party."_

" _I knew someone would see us!" The girl hisses at my husband. She is red-faced and mortified._

 _Good._

 _A look passes between them, an entire conversation I cannot understand conveyed without a single word. The girl is first to break eye contact, and she shakes her head._

" _I need to leave," she mutters, reaching shakily for her clothes on the floor._

" _Hermione-" my husband starts, but she glares at him. I'm almost impressed at how she shuts him up with a single glance._

 _I don't move, but merely avert my eyes as she hastily dresses herself. When she dashes off, she pauses in her rush past me at the doorway._

" _I...I'm sorry." She dares to meet my eyes, brave little Gryffindor that she is. She's crying, and I very nearly feel bad for her. An unfortunate part of me can understand what my husband might see in her. The other, much larger part of me thinks that I would love to hex her with something particularly nasty- but that would achieve nothing useful._

" _Get out of my house," I say instead. She listens without a moment's hesitation._

Whenever I think back on it, I always wonder why I stayed as long as I did. That thought always makes me feel foolish, though I know I had my reasons at the time. As it stands, everything seems to have worked out fine.

 _ **The highly anticipated birth has been followed by the wizarding world since it was first announced in January. Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy divulged the news of the pregnancy mere weeks after their wedding- a private affair attended only by close friends and family- among them Harry Potter, of course, but missing the other third of the famous Golden Trio (and the former Miss Granger's onetime flame), Ronald Weasley.**_

My eyes drift from the page in bored irritation. I have read and reread the details of my ex-husband's wedding countless times. The _Prophet_ seemed unable to run an issue without at least one mention of it for months. Each day I found myself waking up to a different inane detail, from reports on her dress to speculation on where it might be held- undoubtedly so some lucky reporter might be able to weasel a way in. On especially slow news days the paper would run editorials that often featured wild theories about the couple themselves. I particularly enjoyed one that suggested my ex-husband had concocted a convoluted plot to become the next Dark Lord, beginning his inevitable reign by kidnapping and brainwashing the most famous Muggle-born witch of the era. The absurd complexity of it made me laugh.

With time, though, the ever-professional _Prophet_ settled on merely reporting every minute detail of what they named "the wedding of the age." I counted myself unbearably lucky that I decided to move to my home in France- an ironic sort of wedding gift from my parents that made me wonder if they knew from the beginning that it would end up this way.

Perhaps, on some level, I knew it as well, and I stayed as long as I did in hopes of proving them wrong. It seems better than the dismal reality I remember.

 _Days pass. I consider the bag in my wardrobe- that was my immediate thought after finding them- but Lucius begged me to stay (as much as Lucius could beg, anyhow) in order to 'sort through everything', and with what I assume is a temporary bout of insanity, I agree to it._

 _He informs me that he's ended things with the girl. I know it's a lie- not that it's over, he's been upset enough to confirm that- but I know it wasn't his decision. I can only conclude that the girl found herself shocked back into her odd sense of morality and broke it off with him, likely before her boyfriend learned of the affair._

 _The days that follow that announcement are absolutely miserable. Cold indifference, rather the hallmark of our marriage, transforms into bleak hostility. Lucius refuses to acknowledge anyone except to growl orders at the house elves or snap at my general presence. If I thought he was unbearable when simply unable to see her, it was nothing compared to the torture brought forth by the end of their relationship._

 _It's easy enough to ignore him for most of the day, at least. I've taken to sleeping in a separate bedroom during the nights, and in the daytime Lucius prefers to shut himself away in his study for hours at a time._

 _Whenever he emerges from it, the house elves seem to disappear in an instant. I can't entirely blame them; I have no desire to be in Lucius' presence either. Depending on how the rest of the day has gone, he announces himself with anything from a lethargic grunt to an icy rage. After whatever meals we share within the cavernous dining room, we once again retreat to our solitary lives._

 _I had always held deeply the beliefs of a pureblood marriage, of the traditions it encompassed for a union meant to last a lifetime. But the insanity of it all makes me question my own determination to keep my marriage intact when each day—each hour—pushes me closer to breaking._

I skim the rest of the article with only passive interest, merely to see if there is anything worthy of note.

 _ **Mr. Malfoy's only son Draco had no comment to this reporter about the birth of his former classmate's child with his father, but sources say he is happy for it. There remains no word on the opinion of Draco's mother, the first Mrs. Malfoy.**_

An unattractive snort escapes me, making me glad I am alone. The _Prophet_ has yet to get a word from me on my opinion of anything regarding my former husband's new life, but that is certainly not for lack of trying. They have attempted incessantly to gain any sort of information from me, practically since the moment I left him.

 _Much like the day I caught the girl and my husband in the manor, it is raining on the otherwise ordinary June morning when Lucius spots my bag in the foyer._

" _You're leaving," he says simply, no inflection in his voice._

" _I'm going to the house in France. I assume I'll be left alone there."_

" _You will."_

 _One good thing about Lucius that I could always say was that he always understood what was said. He had always seemed to have an innate capability to grasp the subtleties of conversation, without needing the words. It read like a more socially acceptable form of Legilimency; a useful sort of gift to have. It also makes our parting conversation much easier to bear._

 _There is no need for me to tell him that I will be getting divorce papers drawn up in France; the tense set of his jaw and steely tick of his eyes tell me that he is already aware of it._

" _Well then," I finally say, "I'll be off."_

 _Lucius nods. I don't turn to see if he watches as I apparate away, erasing over two decades' worth of marriage with one simple flick of my wrist._

The article ends on an irritating note:

 _ **Our sincerest congratulations to Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy on the birth of their daughter. We wish the best for their family.**_

There is no accompanying picture; a small blessing. There had been no pictures of their wedding either (I had heard through friends that press had been strictly forbidden), but a few months before the event the _Prophet_ published engagement photographs of them. It was bad enough to see them across the front page of every paper in the country, matching grins upon their faces as they gazed at one another with sickening sweetness, every so often leaning into one another for a kiss. I have no desire to see their obvious delight with their offspring.

Finally finished with the exhausting read, I realize that I must have been sitting in the same spot for awhile, and that the sunset is nearly complete. The last vestiges of daylight disappear into nothingness as the sun finally slips below the horizon. Just as the darkness settles, I hear a voice from within the house.

"Cissa? Sorry I'm late...are you ready to go?"

I smile, tossing the paper aside, forgetting about it immediately. I have a date that's waiting for me.

* * *

The end!

PLEASE don't hate me for leaving it there! I know it's a jerk move to end it like that, but this was always Lucius and Hermione's story, and Narcissa's involvement in it is now complete. There's a very good chance I'm going to write a (probably one-shot) story on her new relationship, so if you're interested in that then stick around! And bear with me, since clearly I'm not always great at posting.

Any thoughts/questions/guesses as to who Narcissa might be dating, leave a review! I love reading them all.


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